They appeared out of nowhere yesterday on my crumb-free, clean kitchen counter, slowly milling about near the food compost pail. It was like looking down at a dysfunctional marching band from the cheap seats in the stadium. Tiny black ants unresponsive to finger squishing – I had to use the back of my nail – and, I discovered after shaking a paper towel of supposedly dead ones into the sink, resistant to drowning (I don’t believe they survived the garbage disposal though…bwahaaaahaaa!). Immediately I removed every item from that section of the counter (including a sugar bowl, which you’d think would be wildly popular, but apparently this species has discerning tastes and snubbed their miniscule proboscises at New Stevia) killing any strays that had wandered off from the band. There was no sign of them above the sink in the vinegar and oil cupboard, nor beneath the sink. I cleaned everything with bleach, kept a vigilant eye out, thumbnail at the ready, and for the rest of the day I suffered from Delusional Parasitosis, (thank you Internet!) that feeling that your skin is crawling with bugs. I scratched my head like a flea-bitten animal; I clawed at my arms and legs until my skin was red. It’s happening again right now as I type. Because although there was no further sign of the wee pests yesterday afternoon or evening, this morning when I was in my most vulnerable state of pre-coffee, just-tumbled-out-bed-to-feed-the-starving-attention-deprived-cat, they were back.

The cat alerted me. She was standing near her wet-food bowl and she meowed in a different tone than usual. A “What is it, girl? Is Timmy down the well?!” type of meow. I reached down to get her bowl to wash before feeding her, and low and behold, the leftover food I thought she was being too picky to eat was being devoured by carnivorous ants. I was instantly awake and grinding the intruders and cat food in the disposal. I returned to the scene and smashed the ones who had either had their fill of Friskies or were fashionably late to the party. Again, it was as if they appeared from nowhere; there was no trail, no conga line to outside. I saw a couple near the floorboards, and stationed myself on the kitchen floor with my cup of coffee, reading glasses on (they’re so small!) waiting to ambush them. I got down on my belly, ant-eye level, to stare at the red Marmoleum for signs of movement, iPhone beside me as it occurs a picture would be nice for the post I’m writing in my head. Apparently they are camera shy.

I fantasize about having a mini-anteater for a pet, and wonder how soft they are, for petting and cuddling purposes. (Tangential research reveals that anteaters are extremely unsocial, yet check out this description by Jeff Corwin where he “…rhapsodizes about the anteater’s ‘angelic face … Its dense pelage is as soft as cashmere and has the color of golden honey. It even smells nice, like clean linen.’ Meeting the ‘angel of the forest,’ Corwin was euphoric: ‘This mysterious, almost magical creature sends my heart aflutter each time I have the rare privilege to set my eyes upon it.’”) Wearing my readers I see just how dirty the floorboards are, so I clean some more. I recall a dream last night where I was vacuuming a friend’s house, and wonder if my subconscious is telling me to clean my own house better. Nah. I think these are Antbots.

How diabolical would that be? Antbots! Able to infiltrate easily, indestructible and they drive you insane…even when they’re not there. But of course, there’s no such thing. (Except for this!) It’s getting chilly here on the floor, where I’m still sitting, though now with my laptop, thinking about micro-bots and magical anteaters. I haven’t seen any invaders for a while now, so I think I’ll go take a hot shower and scrub my skin until it shines.Then I'll come back and re-nail the baseboard to the wall.

Painted acres of ultra-vibrant tulips, sunshine, views of snowy Mt. Baker lording over the northeast, and the San Juan Islands disappearing to the north and west – this is the phenomenal Skagit Valley in April.

For years on my way to and from my family home on Whidbey Island I’ve been passing through this area, the fertile swath of agricultural land between the Puget Sound on the west and the Cascade Mountains to the east. There’s a shortcut, of sorts, where you turn off Interstate 5, or Highway 20, and slow your pace while the neat rows of crops flicker past your window. You can drive serenely through striped acres stretching across the valley, often hosting hundreds of fat, white snow geese who will take your breath away when they rise together, twisting magically into the air, their alabaster wings contrasting starkly against the blue or gray sky.

Once the spring arrives, Snow Goose Produce slides open their doors and walls, and you can’t help but stopping in to browse the open-air market, filled with all manner of tempting local goods, produce, cheese, seafood. If your will is strong enough to drive by the heaps of bright woven baskets, and lush plants displayed outside, the tantalizing scent of homemade waffle cones might make you pull over. Just across the Skagit River and up the road is the Rexville Grocery, where you can pop in for an espresso, or tasty hot food, or a pint of local brew. They’ll also pack a picnic for those romantic souls who desire a laid-back gourmet lunch among the celebrated tulips that adorn the fields this time of year.

Of course, I’m one of those romantics. When I heard the tulips were in bloom, I planned out a menu, prepared everything the night before, and on a sunny Friday, the first day the fields were open to the public, we set out for an entire day of downright Downton Abbey-esque decadent leisure. Attired in fancy hats, swirling skirts, lace and pearls – Joe in a Cubavera shirt in beige tones to match his hat and chinos – our intrepid trio traipsed from the grassy parking lot still wet with dew according to our long hems, to join the throngs of nature worshippers lined up to go into RoozenGaarde, the tulip mecca of the Pacific Northwest.

We were all giddy from the sun, the silent explosion of flowers, the springy bounce of hardened-mud trails underfoot. The tulips were very patient as they were ogled from all sides by the tourist paparazzi, serving as the background for countless selfies, regaling us with their unwavering simple beauty. But after a couple hours our stomachs led us away from the colors and towards the promise of our picnic.

We drove a short way to a sandy beach we shared with bald eagles and an intermittent handful of people strolling along the water’s edge, where we spread out on a large tapestry, and toasted the stunning day with Honeydew Bellinis. In consideration for our food-sensitive guest, Pixie, the meal was entirely vegan and gluten-free, each bite bursting with the freshness of the season. With the bay and San Juan Islands splayed before us, Joe played the flute, and I strummed the ukulele and sang. Pixie got out her art supplies and painted pastel patterns on shells. We shared meringue cookies with people who walked by. We abandoned our shoes and happily dug our toes into the sand. For one glorious day we forgot about our troubles. To sum it up, (and you really must say it in your head with an upper-class English accent): It was delightful.

Wash and trim asparagus, then steam over boiling water just until tender (about 10 minutes). Drain, rinse with cold water, and drain again. Arrange in a glass dish.Whisk remaining ingredients in a small bowl, and pour over asparagus. Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours, or up to 1 week.

Heat the oven to 250°F and line one or more baking sheets with parchment paper. Pour the chickpea liquid (aquafaba) into the bowl of a stand mixer and beat with the whisk attachment until stiff peaks form, about 15 minutes. Gradually beat in the sugar and cream of tartar, then the vanilla and dribbles of beet juice until it reaches a pink tinge you like.

Scoop or pipe the aquafaba mixture into mounds onto the baking sheet(s) and bake for 90 minutes. (The meringues will be hard to the touch.) Let meringues cool on the baking sheet for 10 minutes, then serve. (Meringues can be stored in an airtight container for up to three days.)